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The Christmas sales aren’t what they used to be , Mingyu laments, and not over the supermassive black hole that is capitalism but the sudden geriatric thoughts. At only twenty-seven he reflects on life with greying sentiments. He chews his lip in worry and flips through the pages of gift ideas in his mind.
These days it's like he can't leave the house without it leaving his wallet lighter. Not that there are expectations set for presents exactly. He’s painted gifts or thrifted trinkets. Oh without a doubt, his parents had learned to find fondness in thoughtful tinsel. But now… he has a job. Finally , like the rest, he clocks in too early in the morning.
“What are you thinking about?” Jihoon asks, the tone small and exhausted. He’s been chewing on a piece of chicken breast for so long that Mingyu’s stomach turned and he had to look away. Though, he doesn’t comment on it. He almost did the first time he saw it—the plain chicken and a salad. The first time, he nearly leaped to offer Jihoon cooking advice, but he kept his feet firmly on the ground. Of course, cutting is difficult, he isn’t a stranger to it. But at least his chicken never lost dignity.
“Nothing just—”
“Hey, hey,” Supervisor Kang pokes her head through the kitchen door, “I haven’t seen your signatures on the Christmas party list. Please don’t forget to sign up! The team looks forward to seeing you there!” Mingyu glances at the poster on the office kitchen door that, in glittery font, screams: BIMHOUSE 2024 Christmas Party . Which doesn’t actually take place on Christmas, or Christmas Eve. And which Mingyu has been eyeing for days now, anxiously anticipating a familiar name to pop up and encourage him to put his name down too.
“Seulgi-ssi,” Jihoon coughs, unsuspiciously—
“Lee Jihoon, you especially have to be there! I know Freddie got sick last year and you couldn’t make it to the dinner, but we expect to see you there this time. You too, Mingyu-ssi!” She crosses her arms; by all means, the woman shouldn’t be that intimidating, but when one of her eyebrows arches, it freezes the blood in Mingyu’s veins. He gulps. He’s fresh meat in the company. It’s not something to mess with.
“Yes, of course. We will see you there, Supervisor Kang,” he flashes a quick smile.
“Great!” Seulgi claps her hands. Jihoon kicks him in the shin under the table. “And bring a plus one!”
“Of course!” He coughs out, grimacing from the pain.
“Perfect! I hope you can hold your own in Melee. We’ll be doing a bracket for gift cards at the party.” Mingyu nods, bright-eyed and mute as his brain spins from the pain and from never having grasped the difference between Melee and Ultimate.
Seulgi refills her mug of coffee and taps the sign-up poster once again before she leaves Mingyu with a simmering, frowning Jihoon.
“What was that?!” Jihoon hisses through his teeth.
“What?” Mingyu squeaks.
“Plus one?! Have you lost your mind?!”
“What is—” Jihoon kicks him again and Mingyu yelps. “Stop doing that!”
“Need I remind you that neither of us is in a relationship?” He then lowers his tone even more. “And I don’t enjoy hanging out with these people outside my mandatory working hours.”
Mingyu scoots closer, the chair scrapes the floor. “I’m not excited about it either,” he says, matching the hushed tone, “but hyung, I’m too new to ignore this, and…,” he glances back at the door to ensure Supervisor Kang is not in earshot, “She’s kinda scary.”
Jihoon closes his eyes and sighs. “I should have never recommended you for this job.”
“Hey!” Mingyu gasps, and pouts, grumbling, “You don’t mean that.”
As if suffering a headache, Jihoon rubs his temples and picks at his salad. They sit in silence, Mingyu hunched over, glancing over at Jihoon, and Jihoon pointedly ignoring his stares. “And who’s Freddie?” Mingyu asks.
“My cat.”
Mingyu tilts his head. “You don’t have a cat.”
Jihoon scowls, clutching the chopsticks.
***
Surprisingly, Mingyu doesn’t die that day. He avoids it with the skin of his teeth. Jihoon gets called into a meeting over the special effects on that Nine Tailed Princess of the Lake skin he worked on and leaves it with renewed anger at the designer, which takes Mingyu off the top of the hit list. So, Mingyu lives.
“What is your brilliant plan, then?” They clock out when it’s already pitch dark outside, but when the day still has a way to go. The early December air is crisp and Jihoon’s pale cheeks bloom in frigid red.
“What plan?” Mingyu asks. He’s not even part of the skin launch team. In fact, all he knows about the company is that in the last quarter, the users have been rating their satisfaction with the game as Neutral while there’s somehow an uptick in the battle pass purchases.
During these short walks before they part, when Jihoon seldom gets rambly, it just reaffirms how they might as well be working at two different companies. He catches some of the lingo that Jihoon spews, and smiles through the bits he doesn’t understand, happy to be the one Jihoon confides in.
Jihoon looks down the train platform and blows air into his hands. “The party plus one. Supervisor Kang is the type to seriously expect us to show up with someone.” He shakes his head.
“I’m not sure,” Mingyu admits. Maybe he could still get away with lying. Make up something about a fake partner who works one of those jobs with an unpredictable schedule, like a doctor, or a firefighter? “What if we just said that they couldn’t make it?”
Jihoon shakes his head again. “I can’t do it. I already have to keep track of Freddie and his fake bladder problems and I’m one more elaborate lie away from quitting that job. Mingyu,” he warns, not a hint of sarcasm in his tone, “I’ve had to download photos of a fake cat.”
“Okay,” Mingyu nods, “okay.” It’s a lot, but it’s manageable, and there isn’t a problem that is too great to solve. He looks at Jihoon, shoulders sloped, that one stress wrinkle carved into his forehead because of Mingyu. “What if we found blind dates for each other? We can set each other up with someone, as a… blind double date? It doesn’t have to be anything special, really. We just need someone normal, and nice. It doesn’t even have to be a real date.”
“What normal person would agree to a blind double date?”
“Come on,” Mingyu sways his hip, nudging him he puts on a sweet smile, “It will be fun.”
Jihoon looks up, stoic but like he is really thinking about it. They can just both ask for a favor from someone. Mingyu already thinks of a target. And as long as they show up, it should be fine. Jihoon nods, “Fine.”
“Fine?” Mingyu’s smile widens.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s do that. Blind double date.”
“Nice!”
“Just…,” Jihoon pauses, before words fly out like birds, “find me someone hot.”
Mingyu laughs, “Only the best.”
Jihoon passes on the gym offer, saying something about having to help his brother, he lets Mingyu meander on his lonesome. During the workout, he gets through three chapters of The Master and Margarita, sets a new record for lateral reps, and decides on his idea target.
***
It’s not stubbornness, or clinging juvenile spite that stops him from bragging about his brother, instead, it’s that one day Lee Chan was a mean, snappish teenager, and then the next, Jihoon blinked and his youngest brother had moved out and become someone with an almost permanent smiley disposition. Chan now has things like tiny, decorative, protective socks on each table and chair in his apartment so that his floors don’t get scratched. Albeit, they’re cute socks with cats on them, but still… Chan went off to college and seemingly skipped the panicked years of anxious confusion.
It wasn't even an identity crisis that triggered him to dye his hair. Instead, Chan just did it to match his dance competition outfit. He did well at university, too. Jihoon gathered that maybe Chan was an anomaly, or… likely something more concerning, with how he avoids crises by making himself too busy to stop and think. Jihoon doesn’t support it, but it beats his own, lying in a curled position and contemplating every life decision.
He grabs a Coke out of a fully stocked, and clean fridge, and looks over back to Chan, organizing all the leftover screws. “Are you hungry? I should order us something.”
“Shouldn’t I be ordering you food, hyung?” Chan asks, shelving away the small box.
“Chan, I would have been offended had I found out that you tried replacing your processor by yourself and then messed something up in the process. Let me help when I can.” He takes a sip, the fizz tickles his nose. “Chicken?”
“Yes,” he smiles, “Thank you, Jihoonie hyuuuung .” The words sticky sweet tease a smile from him.
“Don’t thank me just yet.”
“Why?”
Jihoon sighs, pulling out a chair at the small two-person kitchen table. The furniture is mostly all wood, and pristine, new from the store. Although Chan often buys secondhand. He saves money well, like some kind of gerbil, and then slowly builds palaces for himself. “I need a favor,” he confesses in the tone of an apology.
“Okay,” Chan sits opposite him, studying him. “What is it?”
“Ah,” Jihoon mumbles, looking down as he breathes in sharply. Finding a date for Mingyu feels so… silly. Especially a blind date. Mingyu is too good-looking for blind dates, Jihoon thinks. Wouldn’t it be awkward for Chan? To just end up with someone who perpetually looks like he stepped off the runway? Isn’t that a little bit intimidating? He brings the drink to his lips. “It’s stupid, but my coworker and I need dates for the company Christmas party and we thought that we could find dates for each other and…”
“Annnnnd?” Chan asks, expectedly.
“And are you free on the 20th of December to come as his date?”
Chan’s raised eyebrows drop, and he straightens up, puzzled, “Wait, what?!”
“What?”
“You mean me?” He points to himself, all confused and animated.
“Yes??!”
Chan’s mouth falls open in a small O, eyes wide, body frozen in the chair, “Oh.”
“Why did you think I was asking?” Jihoon’s eyebrows furrow.
Finally thawed, Chan shrugs, “I don’t know. I thought you needed advice or something. You have never before even acknowledged that I have a love life, hyung.”
True, Jihoon admits silently. But that’s an emotional swarm of bees and teenage feelings that he had no desire to deal with then and doesn’t feel particularly eager to unpack now that finally, the bees seem to have been eradicated. Chan’s giant feelings were just something that Jihoon observed from the bleachers, hoping they would go away once Choi Seungcheol’s presence diminished.
“You didn’t have a love life,” Jihoon points out. Not entirely false.
Chan scoffs, crossing his arms, “You don’t know anything.”
“Okay, okay,” Jihoon waves it away, the conversation having swerved in an undesirable direction, “back to the point. What do you think then? If you don’t want to do it…”
He watches Chan, arms crossed, tapping his small fingers on his biceps. He doesn’t have a single hoodie that’s the correct size; all seem eager to swallow his whole frame. Chan purses his lips and squints his eyes. “Who is the coworker?”
“You don’t know him. He’s new, Kim Mingyu.”
Kim Mingyu, Chan mouths, testing out the name as if feeling out a hazy memory.
Jihoon holds back how he met Mingyu, how initially Mingyu was Cheol’s friend.
“What’s he like?” Chan asks, leaning back in.
Jihoon hates the first thing that comes to his mind, despite the truth of it. Mingyu is really handsome. He is beautiful. It really is almost intimidating. It leaves him with this tight ball in his throat, impossible to cough out. And it wouldn’t be a problem if Mingyu were some douchebag about it, but instead… He almost puts his head in his hands. It’s so much worse.
Mingyu is tall, but terrified of bugs. Every day, he offers to share his lunch with Jihoon, and if he’s trying out a new recipe, then forget it. There’s no getting out of tasting that food. He has terribly expecting eyes, and Jihoon just… He might just have to try breathing exercises.
Mingyu is really wonderful. And Chan would be lucky, of course.
“He’s tall.” Jihoon gulps. “He’s handsome, too.”
“Oh?” Chan lights up.
“Uhhh, yeah.”
“Okay!” Chan nods, smiling, almost giddy. “I’ll do it.”
***
“Oh, you’re home,” Wonwoo mumbles from the couch when the door buzzes a familiar sound. He doesn’t spare it a look, just curls more into himself in defense from the cold that rushes in chilling the room.
“It’s cold outside.” Mingyu rustles, each boot banging as it hits the floor. “Ah, it’s really fucking cold.”
“Mhm,” Wonwoo mumbles under his breath, phone in hand shining a harsh light on his face. It’s the same every day. Quickly, Mingyu learned that Wonwoo doesn’t do much; he’s so extremely low maintenance. Where you leave him, there you will find him.
He takes off his jacket in the kitchen and unwraps his shawl, setting it on the back of the chair, and that’s when he sees it, out of the corner of his eye, “You didn’t do the dishes!” Mingyu yells from the kitchen.
“It’s your turn,” Wonwoo replies, not bothering to raise his voice.
“What?” The other steps in, his hair a bird’s nest, cheeks and nose windburnt, “Ah, you asshole.”
“Hey,” Wonwoo whines, “I got toilet paper and dish soap.”
Mingyu scoffs, hands on his hips, and with a sneering smile says, “What? You couldn’t figure out how to use the dish soap?”
“Can you figure out how to shut up?” Wonwoo snaps back, still looking at his phone.
“You’re impossible!” He chucks a pillow at Wonwoo, knocking the phone into his face. “And you think just because you have a job that it relieves you from ever doing anything else, it’s so immature! We are not doing this again, I told you.” Mingyu breathes out, long and hard, letting the air out of his chest, and plops down on the couch.
Wonwoo peeks out from the pillow obstructing his face. “Okay, I will do the dishes,” he concedes.
“You’re a terrible roommate.” Mingyu shakes his head, face fiery from the anger.
Wonwoo bites his lip and sits up, gathering his knees to his chest.
Mingyu throws his head back, groaning. How can this be the guy he is going to set up Jihoon with? If Jihoon knew how Wonwoo lives, he would hate him. Fine, they’re both introverted, but it’s extremely different degrees. One just enjoys solitude, while the other appears inept in human interaction.
Mingyu looks at him, and again, it’s like he is the older one. “I need a favor, so save all your apologies and do this one thing for me.”
Wonwoo groans, smushing his face into the pillow. “Fine.” It comes out muffled. “What is it?” He looks up.
“You are going to come with me to the office Christmas Party as a plus one for one of my coworkers.”
“Wait, wait,” Wonwoo waves his hands, “What?!”
“He is getting me a date, and I will bring a date for him.”
“That’s psychotic.” Wonwoo deadpans.
Mingyu rolls his eyes, “Thank you for your input, hyung.” He stands up, “Get a suit by the 20th.”
“Hey!” Wonwoo calls out behind him, following him to the kitchen, “Hey!” He cries, “Don’t I get more info?”
“Do the dishes!” Mingyu chuckles, “And it’s not even a real date!”
Wonwoo stops, staring at him, flabbergasted. “What does that even mean?!”
***
Lee Jihoon
We will be there in fifteen minutes.
Nice! See you soon! :D
Lee Jihoon
See you :)
“What is it?” Wonwoo scoots closer, scrutinizing Mingyu. “Why does your face look like that?”
Mingyu scoffs, shaking his head. He looks at the subway window opposite them. Two startlingly well-dressed people look back.
He had to fish out his old suit from somewhere back in the closet. Extremely classic, just navy blue and a white button-up, but he still fills it well. The shoes are a bit tight, though. He curls his toes and sighs.
“Nothing,” Mingyu replies.
“Come on!”
“Your date is excited to meet you.” He lies. Jihoon seemed more cautious than curious when he asked Mingyu about it.
“Forget it,” Wonwoo mumbles, looking away.
Heads turn after them when they exit the train. Mingyu watches the sludge, watches how best to avoid it. The chill creeps underneath the sleeves of his white button-up and tickles his skin. He should’ve taken a longer coat too; the night will only get colder.
“What should I talk to him about?” Wonwoo asks.
Mingyu shoots him a look and purses his lips. Good question. Something tells Mingyu that Jihoon won’t suddenly become a chatterbox tonight, and Wonwoo is bad at initiating conversations as it is.
Mingyu envisions a night of long silences and some mediocre wine. Maybe they don’t have to stay long, just enough for people to notice they were there. “You’ve been on dates before,” he teases. “Just relax, he does programming, too. Ask him about that or something, it’s not like you are interested in making this a real thing.” He says, then looks at Wonwoo more intensely, “Right?”
Wonwoo gulps, “Right.”
“This is it,” he announces, before entering the building with Wonwoo in tow. “We are on the fourth floor.” Plaques of companies decorate the wall, each sitting next to its elevator number.
When the elevator takes them up, it opens to a brightly lit hallway with minimal decor. If not for a few strings of tinsel taped to the doors, it would look like any office floor.
The smell of pine that mixes with the aroma of warm wine gives life to the holiday atmosphere. And it’s warm like there’s somewhere an open, soft crackling fire that you can huddle around. It’s warm like a hug. They walk down the hallway, closer to the source of the music; the familiar Christmas jingles, the bright bells and whistles in songs. But what takes him out of it is Wonwoo following him in step. Mingyu gives a once over to the bizarre scene of his stoic, pain-in-the-ass, roommate wandering a place that Mingyu associates only with unremarkable professionals.
They walk to the conference room, drawn to the crowd under the soft, colorful Christmas lights that shine on the familiar faces. He hangs a step back, extending his neck, checking for Jihoon. Scanning over the finely dressed people, he searches the corner— “Ah, there he is!” He smiles.
“Hi, hello,” he bows slightly to the upper management to his right, and to his left.
“Mingyu-ssi, you’re joining us later?” Senior Byun stops him, wide-eyed and smiling.
“Of course.”
He even practiced.
“Is this your date?” Supervisor Kang, gestures her glass towards Wonwoo and Mingyu stammers, “Oh no!” They both frantically shake their heads, “No, no.” He reaffirms.
“Okay,” the two laugh, “enjoy the evening, then.”
He passes through the crowd with a few more polite greetings and bows, until like through thick vines, he breaks through to a clearing, like a shore opening before him, but instead of a beach sunset, he discovers a sight equally beautiful.
Ah. Mingyu stops.
Jihoon’s hair is styled softly, and small strands of jet-black hair frame his face. It’s a simple, grey suit, but Jihoon sees him and looks back and Mingyu maybe then, for the first time, notices how Jihoon has almost unnaturally pink lips. How pretty. Mingyu catches a breath and grabs Wonwoo’s shoulder like a clutch. “Come,” Mingyu whispers, and tugs his roommate with.
“Hyung,” Mingyu greets, once he’s almost next to him.
“Hi,” Jihoon breathes out and smiles.
Mingyu looks at him and struggles to find a word to speak. All he can think is… You look really good. Like… Hollywood good. Mingyu’s head spins.
“This,” Jihoon points next to him, “this is my brother, Lee Chan.” Mingyu shakes Chan’s hand as Jihoon says, “Your date.”
Oh.
Right.
“Nice to meet you!” He turns back and sees Wonwoo, looking a little dazed, like he didn’t take his anemia medication or something. “This is my roommate, your date,” he says, still shaking Chan’s hand.
“I mean your date.” He looks at Jihoon.
“Ah,” Jihoon nods, rocking back and forth on his heels, “That’s nice.”
The music doesn’t stop playing; it gets amplified by the animated conversations around them fueled by the full bellies, yet a deathly quiet grips the four. No one’s mouth moves to speak. Each with a smile, Wonwoo’s the smallest of the bunch, with only his lips slightly turned upright. Everyone’s eyes wander as if scared to get stuck on someone particular. Hopelessly, they search for conversation inspiration.
“Mingyu-ssi, you work with Jihoon hyung?” Chan cracks under the weight of heavy quiet and breaks the ice with the first thought in his head.
“Y-yes,” Mingyu’s voice cracks, making Wonwoo stifle a laugh, “Well, actually, not work work together, because Jihoon hyung works on the IP directly and well,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know anything about programming, it’s not my forte, though my mother would’ve preferred I did that, I think, but still it’s not a bad job. What I do I mean. The hours are alright and I think not having to depend on teamwork like Jihoon… I think that helps.” He smiles, breathless from the long-winded speech.
And then nothing. A quiet falls again, with three pairs of eyes zooming in on him, each with their own indecipherable and unique expression.
“Uhhh, so what is it that you do, then?” Chan asks again and Mingyu nearly facepalms.
“Oh right! I do the books. I work in the accounting here.”
Chan’s smile freezes, “Oh,” he nods, politely, “That’s nice, Mingyu-ssi.”
When no one says another word and the third wave of silence creeps into the group, Jihoon suddenly becomes alive. “I need a drink. Who else needs a drink?”
“Me, please,” Mingyu breathes out, panicked.
***
Chan finishes his flute and tastes the citric alcohol hit the back of his throat. It coats his tongue, and it is as if it presses into the back of his teeth and makes him speak. “Can I confess something?” He asks the only person left at the table and, somehow, Wonwoo doesn’t seem as petrified of Chan’s ability to speak as Mingyu did.
In fact, it’s like Wonwoo expects it. He leans in an inch closer and nods his chin.
“I thought it was you,” Chan whispers.
Oh, the champagne is really kicking in.
“You thought it was me what?”
His voice is so deep. Chan can almost taste that too. And when he speaks, it is as if he purrs out the words.
“Hyung said my date was tall and handsome,” Chan explains, shrugging, but his voice is too sweet and bubbly that whatever nonchalance he feigns, just fails and fails. His eyes are too excited to look at Wonwoo. That must be it—a hyung tall and in all black. Wonwoo is too handsome and Chan is too drunk for an office party. “I thought it was you when I first saw you two.”
Wonwoo's eyes widen in shock, but it's a single flash of emotion before his face collects into casual composure that Chan finds borderline insufferable (if not a little irresistible). In his head, he already weaves a brutal story about the man, and pictures some rich SKY kid who now works a decent, but boring job, so this is how he seeks excitement.
The problem is, it really was Wonwoo, whom Chan saw first.
Then Chan tried to recalibrate, and direct his attention to Mingyu, but while Mingyu rambled and stumbled over his words a blistering heat burned Chan's left side. Wonwoo unabashedly stared, with his eyes stripping layers off of Chan, only an arm’s length away from him. So provocative, so shamelessly distracting, Chan could have almost shrieked.
“So you think that I’m tall and handsome?” Wonwoo questions, staring him down and it warms Chan’s face up.
“Y-yes,” He sputters, frowning. Wonwoo backs him into a corner and Chan feels his claws
almost ready to pop out. What a stupid question. He just wants to hear flattery. At least Mingyu has the brains to pair his handsomeness with humility.
“So, do you do this often, then?” Chan asks, looking around, and praying to see Jihoon.
“Do you?” Wonwoo smirks, and Chan rolls his eyes.
“You’re really shameless.”
Wonwoo chuckles and looks down at his drink. He’s had a couple of sips, so Chan trusts that’s a sober man talking, which makes it scarier. “Can I tell you what I think that you are?” He asks and his eyes travel back to Chan’s face. It’s bone-chilling how the eyes behind those dark-rimmed glasses sober him up.
Wordlessly, Chan nods. Like he’s compelled, he invites this demon to stare into his soul.
“I think you’re really nice,” Wonwoo says and blushes. “I assume you are doing this for your brother just because you want to do something nice, and you’re the only one who had a question to ask while the rest, despite being older… we just awkwardly stayed quiet.”
The surroundings buzz and fade out around Chan, and the crowd behind Wonwoo melts into the drops of soft colors, all just twinkling Christmas lights.
Wonwoo takes a beat and when Chan doesn’t fight the strength to open his mouth, Wonwoo says, “And I think you’re funny,” and shrugs.
“Ah,” Chan tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks down at his trimmed nails and the burgundy tablecloth. It’s like he is empty. There’s still a strange buzzing in his head and if it’s not alcohol, then it can only be shell shock. He doesn’t know much about that thing, but he thinks it is what he feels with his numb mouth and at a loss for words.
Maybe it isn’t shell shock, but whiplash from the swing of the conversation?
Where’s that cockiness that had possessed Wonwoo? He was easier to read when Chan thought that he was a one-note type of asshole.
His phone buzzes against his thigh and shakes him out of his thoughts.
Jihoon hyung
Mingyu and I got stuck in something. I don’t know how long this will last.
You don’t have to wait for me if you want to go home.
Sorry about this.
Everything okay?
Jihoon hyung
Yes, don’t worry.
Chan frowns but doesn't question further. It isn't Jihoon’s style to play pranks. If he scrolls up, the messages between them are just birthday wishes or quick, short, information-packed texts. Jihoon doesn’t abuse that to make Chan a fool.
It doesn't raise Chan's eyebrows. But it explains why he hasn't spotted Jihoon or Mingyu for some time now.
But while Chan is content to walk out and grab an actual, filling meal on his way home, he finds Wonwoo looking away from the phone with amusement.
“I guess they finally figured it out,” Wonwoo says like he and Chan are in on the same joke and smirks knowingly. But Chan tilts his head in question and feels the absence of the alcohol.
“Are you hungry?” Wonwoo asks abruptly.
“What?”
“I’m starving, and I think we are both getting stood up—”
“ —Hey!” Chan pouts. He doesn’t even care about it, and it’s not like he is interested in Mingyu. Because he isn’t. But it’s just that… it hurts his ego. Maybe, possibly, he might have a deep-seated need for people to like him.
Wonwoo chuckles at Chan’s expression and the skin around his eyes gathers in a pretty smile. It’s mostly shadow and golden light, but it’s warm, and he looks handsome. Wonwoo, Chan thinks, looks his age. He looks like someone who would be nice to hug and the thoughts burn coal in Chan’s stomach.
“I am hungry,” he nods. “Do you like squid?”
Wonwoo grimaces and Chan giggles. “What is it, Wonwoo-ssi?”
***
“Your brother seems nice,” Mingyu comments, and Jihoon breathes out through his nose.
He shouldn’t have dragged Chan into this.
And this seals it.
He should’ve turned down the idea the moment it sprouted from Mingyu’s brain. Not that it is a problem. But… if it weren’t a problem, he wouldn’t have woken up with a tight ball of anxiety in his stomach. And throughout the day, the expectation just patted the ball it into something firmer and larger until he felt like he was carrying around a small boulder. His muscles ached.
He didn’t want Mingyu on a date with someone.
He didn’t want to have to entertain the idea of a date with someone either.
“Yeah, Chan’s great,” Jihoon mumbles.
“What do you think about Wonwoo?”
Jihoon glances back at the crowd and shrugs. “He is not my type,” he smiles apologetically and reaches for the bottle.
He hasn’t looked at Mingyu. Not really. Not since he first saw him tonight.
“Why? What’s your type?” Mingyu asks and Jihoon rolls his eyes while pouring himself a drink. If it were anyone else asking that, it might have been cruel. But it isn’t, so Jihoon doesn’t boulder through the conversation with anger nor snaps back something witty but harsh that tomorrow would make him feel worse than any hangover. When Mingyu asks it’s because he always asks Jihoon nice things, personal things, because he is the type to really listen when you tell him your favorite color and then in seven months gift you something that shows how he remembers.
He scrunches his eyes and takes a big gulp of wine. “I think I left something in my office the other day. Can you come with me to look for it?” Jihoon asks, looking up and Mingyu’s eyes look so big and expecting and Jihoon only thinks about how he might just break his own heart.
***
Mimicking Chan Wonwoo leans back against the footboard slat of the bed and leans his head against the hard wood. It feels fuzzy in his head. His face feels softer, like if you squished his cheeks it might just be dough. It must be some alcohol that’s doing that to him. And it is only the little remaining of his sanity that keeps him from reaching out for Chan’s cheeks and pinching them between his fingers.
While Wonwoo goes almost gooey and quiet, Chan rambles. He is like a small bird, just chirping, and Wonwoo enjoys his song.
“So you’ve never been outside of Korea?” Chan asks for the second time, absolutely aghast.
“Nope,” Wonwoo shrugs. Their faces are so close that their foreheads almost touch.
Chan has a lot of moles on his face, Wonwoo thinks. They are very well placed, and it suits him. Maybe he is all like that, with tiny little markers that tell you where to kiss and touch. Wonwoo wants to see, and it almost itches how much he wants to satisfy his curiosity.
“Hyuuung,” Chan whines and meekly slaps Wonwoo’s chest.
He’s been calling him hyung for the past two hours. Ever since Wonwoo paid for his Katsu and, like a man hypnotized, watched him chew every bite for way too long.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and watches Chan’s eyes widen. Wonwoo’s heart drops and plunges into some ice. He loses the air in his lungs. And he doesn’t blink.
“Yes,” Chan nods his pretty head and Wonwoo just leans in. He falls like cut loose from a string. He closes the distance between them by just pressing his lips closer and kissing Chan.
Chan’s also soft. His lips taste like the red wine that Wonwoo opened, and he presses against Wonwoo. Chan’s hands clutch his chest, and Wonwoo feels him breathe.
When he pulls back, Chan’s eyes are still closed, and his lips are pink and slightly parted. Wonwoo has to kiss him again. Until he kisses him a thousand times.
But before he leans in again, a crash and tumble echoes through the apartment. And then poorly suppressed giggles follow suit.
“What’s that?” Chan asks, biting his lip.
“I told you,” Wonwoo cocks his head and smiles.
“No way!” Chan goes to cover his mouth and Wonwoo catches his hand, pulling him close and finding his lips. He licks inside into the warmth and kisses him hard.